Too hectic to be sad ...
Sue's father died last week.
He was 78, which doesn't exactly put him in the James Dean category, but 78 isn't all that old either. (Sue's nursing specialty is geriatrics and I preach at an old folks home now and again. We know about this stuff. 78 isn't all that old.)
In a lot of ways, it was a good way to go. He has had a weak heart for years - surgery five or six years back left him feeling terrific, but Sue and I had noticed that he was slowing down recently. But basically, he was healthy. After breakfast he told Sue's mom that he didn't feel good and lay down on the sofa to rest. He never woke up.
There could have been plenty of different scenarios, most of them an awful lot worse. Sue's mom could have had to nurse him for years. Sue's mom - and strong, optimistic woman who's seen plenty in life and has lived to laugh about it - could even have died first, leaving behind a man who couldn't boil an egg or turn on a vacuum cleaner.
Still.
I'll miss the way he watched soap operas, admonishing the heroines (Don't trust him Sonya - all he wants is your money!!) and heckling the bad guys (Dirty scoundrel - try that with me and see what you get!!) (First time I saw him do it I was embarrassed for him. Now that I've practiced a little, I've understood: this is the way you're supposed to watch movies!)
I'll miss the quiet way he had of puttering about his orchids; I'll miss the regularity of his life with Sue's mom. Passionate living wasn't exactly their motto, but they'd spent a life together and they had their quiet daily routine down to a T.
Life dished out a lot of disappointments to him, but he paid the bills, fed his cat, watered his orchids, drank his coffee, admired his alps, went for his walks, stuck to his woman and raised four kids, one of whom is pretty darn good lover, and a pretty darn good daughter, too.*
You could set the bar a lot lower.
God speed, old man. And when I meet you in heaven, maybe we'll figure out whether I should have called you Karl or Dad all these years. Guess I waited to long too figure it out down here. Darn. Sorry.
* Translation: she's helping out at her mom's house, and I'm running the show here at home, and I'm missing some adult company evenings!
He was 78, which doesn't exactly put him in the James Dean category, but 78 isn't all that old either. (Sue's nursing specialty is geriatrics and I preach at an old folks home now and again. We know about this stuff. 78 isn't all that old.)
In a lot of ways, it was a good way to go. He has had a weak heart for years - surgery five or six years back left him feeling terrific, but Sue and I had noticed that he was slowing down recently. But basically, he was healthy. After breakfast he told Sue's mom that he didn't feel good and lay down on the sofa to rest. He never woke up.
There could have been plenty of different scenarios, most of them an awful lot worse. Sue's mom could have had to nurse him for years. Sue's mom - and strong, optimistic woman who's seen plenty in life and has lived to laugh about it - could even have died first, leaving behind a man who couldn't boil an egg or turn on a vacuum cleaner.
Still.
I'll miss the way he watched soap operas, admonishing the heroines (Don't trust him Sonya - all he wants is your money!!) and heckling the bad guys (Dirty scoundrel - try that with me and see what you get!!) (First time I saw him do it I was embarrassed for him. Now that I've practiced a little, I've understood: this is the way you're supposed to watch movies!)
I'll miss the quiet way he had of puttering about his orchids; I'll miss the regularity of his life with Sue's mom. Passionate living wasn't exactly their motto, but they'd spent a life together and they had their quiet daily routine down to a T.
Life dished out a lot of disappointments to him, but he paid the bills, fed his cat, watered his orchids, drank his coffee, admired his alps, went for his walks, stuck to his woman and raised four kids, one of whom is pretty darn good lover, and a pretty darn good daughter, too.*
You could set the bar a lot lower.
God speed, old man. And when I meet you in heaven, maybe we'll figure out whether I should have called you Karl or Dad all these years. Guess I waited to long too figure it out down here. Darn. Sorry.
* Translation: she's helping out at her mom's house, and I'm running the show here at home, and I'm missing some adult company evenings!